


complimentary service

by ugnoise



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Breast Enlargement, Gang Rape, Gangbang, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Multi, Xeno, rapid pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugnoise/pseuds/ugnoise
Summary: well that's the last time he's flying business class.





	complimentary service

Ian smiled tightly at the air hostess checking his boarding pass and followed her directions to his seat. Usually he was a lot better about the whole flying thing but today he wasn't feeling so hot. Or rather, he was feeling a little too hot, sweaty and dizzy as he shuffled down the aisle to his seat, stomach cramping something fierce. He had been fine when he’d left for the airport this morning so it must have been something he'd eaten at the airport, which was infuriating considering how much he'd paid to eat at some supposedly upscale sushi restaurant. 

 

After struggling with his bag, he was finally able to collapse into his seat -- in business class, of course and sparsely populated to boot -- panting shallowly and shrugging out of his jacket. His shirt was damp, clinging to him, but luckily there were no obvious sweat stains, thank god. Feeling a little thirsty, he flagged down a harried looking air steward for a bottle of water, fiddling with the air con while he waited, for what ultimately resulted in a weak blast of cold air, until it was dropped into his hands. He pressed it desperately to his forehead with a sigh of relief, slid it down to rest in the hollow of his neck while his free hand rubbed gingerly at his tender belly, hoping it would pass quickly. The thought of dealing with this for the next couple of hours was enough to fill him with dread, but given his conference this afternoon he couldn't really afford to postpone his flight at all, and Ian let his head loll back, too pained to even hold it up, and focused on his breathing. 

 

Resolving to leave an absolutely scathing restaurant review when he landed, he uncapped the bottle and ended up draining all of it in one go. He felt immediately better, and flagged someone down for another, hand still rubbing his belly. Maybe it was his imagination, but the motions of his hand were soothing, some of the discomfort slipping away, and his touch firmed a little. He immediately uncapped the second bottle when it arrived, drank that one much like the first, and then resumed the motions on his belly through his damp shirt, slipping the waistband of his slacks to below his belly to relieve some pressure. He figured it must just be some intense bloating or something and, feeling a bit less frantic, he reached for his phone with his other hand to check his emails before take-off, only looking up to take note of the guy settling into the seat across the aisle from him. A quick look around showed that they were the only two in business class so far, and Ian crossed his fingers that it would stay that way. 

 

Luck wasn't on his side, a couple more men filing in just before the doors shut, but Ian shrugged it off, fastening his seatbelt and putting his phone into flight mode, not even pretending to pay attention to the safety demonstration. He thought about pulling out one of the books he packed for the flight, but then decided his head was spinning too much so he put on some music and reclined back in his seat, eyes shut, fingers stroking his sensitive belly. 

 

A little while later he called for another bottle of water, still overheated and sweating despite the cool cabin air, and as he waited he loosened the seatbelt a bit until it stopped digging into his belly. The third bottle was gone in seconds too, and Ian resumed his recline, hands cupping and massaging his belly. He still felt awful, but at least the pain was getting easier to bear, and still panting lightly, Ian loosened his seatbelt again, spread his legs slightly and fell into a light doze.

 

He roused himself to shift his seatbelt to sit under his belly, sighing as the pressure released, and then called for another bottle of water. The fever must have been seriously dehydrating him, because three -- almost four --  bottles in he didn't even feel the need to pee at all, but he figured he'd just need to sweat whatever the hell was wrong with him out. 

 

He drained the bottle when it arrived, trickles of water escaping to run down his throat until he scooped them up with a finger and sucked them down, and then dropped the empty bottle with the others. His stomach felt heavy now, weighted down and full -- which, considering the two litres of water he'd consumed, made sense -- but the pain was a distant echo of what he started out with, and his hands felt so good on his belly so he flopped back into his seat and settled in for another nap. 

 

Under his hands his belly quivered and then expanded sharply, bloating outwards in jerky bursts of movement, and Ian’s eyes shot open. 

 

When he looked down, he blew past horrified and straight into a full blown panic. His belly was  _ huge _ , a large mound distending his shirt, straining at his buttons until, before his eyes, they popped off all at once and the enormous heft of his belly could spill out over his lap, large and round and  _ tight _ and growing bigger and bigger before his eyes, undershirt rucked up to his chest because it wasn't even close to being big enough to fit over it anymore. Panicking, he dug the heel of his hand into his belly, completely irrationally, as though it'd be enough to stop the growth, and the sharp burst of pleasure shocked a moan out of him, hastily stifled by the hand he clapped over his mouth. He snatched his hand away even as he glanced furtively at the other inhabitants in business class to see whether they were paying attention, but they had headphones on, or had their noses buried in a newspaper, and Ian breathed a shaky sigh of relief. It was short-lived though; a deep, dense ache blossomed in the pit of his belly, growing until he was curled up with it, teeth clenched against a cry, and in the end he gave in and pressed his hand against the tight drum of his growing belly and started kneading. He panted as the pain receded, as the pleasure began to simmer in its place, sweat beading at his temples, on his forehead, dripping from the tip of his nose, and bit his lip hard to stifle any noise. 

 

God, what the fuck was going on? What was happening to him? It wasn't fucking natural: the sharp pain, the grinding pleasure, the rapid growth like a tumour. All he could think of was blowing up like a blimp, growing and growing until he popped, entrails everywhere, and unbidden he started crying, chest heaving with silent sobs. He both desperately wanted help and desperately wanted no one to see him like this, with his fat, bulging belly bared obscenely to everyone, sweat absolutely pouring from his body, his shirt translucent with it, and slacks that grew ever tighter as his traitorous dick went from half hard to fully, achingly hard, each push of his hands against his growing belly seemingly tied directly to his dick, sending little sparks of pleasure straight to it. He spread his legs a little more, and trapped a moan in his chest as the weight of his belly dropped right onto his dick. He was parched, mouth bone dry again, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, but he couldn't let someone see him like this, and he cried harder, throat burning with the need for more water. 

 

Another look over at his neighbours showed them to still be oblivious, which was good because it was about then that the button on his pants gave, pinging off somewhere to the side, and the zip gave way under the ever expanding mass of his belly. More weight settled on his dick, and Ian huffed and wheezed, absolutely dripping sweat, hands still pressing against his gravid belly, pleasure winding tighter and tighter, and he was close, so close, he could feel it-- 

 

“Hey, man, you okay?”

 

Ian yelled, jumping about a foot in the air, and then stared up in horror at the man standing at the entrance of his cubicle. Almost unconsciously, his hands splayed across the expanse of his belly, as though he could hide it from his fellow passenger's gaze, but it was a laughable attempt. God, he was filthy; his sweat-stained clothes clinging to his arms and chest where it wasn't pushed aside by the huge dome of his belly spilling wide across his lap, hair slicked to his skin, sweat pooling at his lower back, between his thighs, pants gaping open. He was disgusting. 

 

“No,” he moaned, hunching over, trying to hide, but that hurt too much, and he couldn't stop touching his belly. “D-don't look!”

 

“That doesn't look so good,” the man went on, eyes tracking down Ian's body before settling on his belly, “you need any help?” His gaze was vague though, something weird about the smile stretched across his face, but Ian couldn't focus enough to bring any kind of order to his thoughts.  

 

“No,” he moaned again, as much an answer to the question as it was a denial of the situation. “Please-- please just leave. You need to-- to  _ go _ .”

 

The man wet his lips, flicked his gaze up to Ian's sweaty face, and then reached out and smoothed his hand over the wide curve of Ian's fat belly, cupping it. Ian sobbed and came, right then and there, all over the inside of his boxers.

 

“Look at you,” the man breathed, fingers digging into flesh, and Ian writhed, completely helpless against the feeling, belly bouncing, aroused again despite the fact that come was still cooling in his boxers. “Stuffed full of young. You look just about ready to burst.” 

 

His belly had finally stopped growing, but god, he was so fucking full, his skin drum-tight and shiny with sweat, belly large and quivering as though it was alive, and the man seemed obsessed with this fact as he played with Ian, cupping the weight of it in his hands and massaging it with his fingers even as Ian pleaded for him to stop.

 

“I'm not!” he shrieked, shoving at the man above him even as he arched his back, pushing his massive belly up into those large hands. “I'm sick-- I'm just sick! You need to-- just go!”

 

He didn't want this -- well, he didn't want any of this but he emphatically didn't want this man anywhere near him, touching him, slacks distended with his own obvious arousal, but he couldn't think straight, throat on fire, dick aching with pleasure, belly gurgling and shifting in his lap. 

 

“Shhh,” the man said, digging his thumb in just to watch how it made Ian moan. It was like he didn't even hear Ian, far too focused on his belly. Ian wheezed, dizzy, panicked, gaze bouncing around business class as though looking for a miracle, but to his horror all he saw were the other passengers all gathered round, a blur of smiling faces, grabby hands reaching out to knead his belly. “It looks like someone already bred you up good,” another man said, slowly stroking the bulge of his erection through his pants, “wonder how big we can get you.” The first man fumbled with his belt with one hand and then soon enough he had his dick out, jacking it with one hand while the other rubbed circles over the tight skin of his belly. Ian recoiled in disgust, a denial on the tip of his tongue, except his gaze landed on the head of his dick, pre glistening under the cabin lights, and Ian's throat clicked as he tried to swallow, mouth desert-dry. Seconds later he was pulling the man's hand away and sealing his mouth over it, licking and sucking frantically to get as much moisture as possible. 

 

The man sighed and cupped the back of Ian's head, but that was wholly secondary to Ian, his whole world narrowed down to the dick in his mouth, sucking down any pre that leaked from the head, crying because it wasn't enough. The man thrusted and Ian choked, gagged on it, and then swallowed furiously around the head as it scraped back and forth over his tongue, nudging at the back of his throat. It wasn't long before the man hummed, and then ropes of thick come were shooting straight down his burning throat, a drop of rain on arid ground but the relief of getting some liquid down his throat was orgasmic in itself. Ian licked up every last drop, still sucking desperately on the head until he was shoved away, belly jostling as he fell back on his seat, and then jostling again as it rumbled and bloated outwards, two, three inches bigger, angry stretch marks splitting across the surface. 

 

Ian cried out, in pain, in desperation, in pleasure, growing belly getting soothed by the men's large hands, whimpering as he eyed the dick that hung half hard from his pants, still feeling the thick load of come in his throat. He felt weird -- well, weirder than normal -- panting as his whole body flushed with heat. His chest felt tight too, and he looked down to see the three buttons that were holding his somewhat useless shirt close starting to strain, the gaps gaping open as his pecs -- firm and muscular from his early morning gym sessions -- began to soften and swell, rounding out into fat and heavy tits, large nipples poking through the thin material until the buttons gave, shirt popping open to reveal his stained undershirt, bunched up above his huge belly, stretched thin as it barely fit over his chest. 

 

“No, no, no,” he moaned, writhing as his belly was kneaded, his hands hovering over his chest as though he desperately wanted to check what was happening but couldn't quite bring himself to touch them. Above him, the men smiled, pleasant, pleased, eyes glazed over as they stared at Ian's torso, hands still playing with his growing belly while others skidded up to rub at his chest, squeezing tightly before fingers found a fat nipple. 

 

Ian shrieked again, coming hard into his boxers, panting as sharp pleasure shot through his body. God, it felt good, like the hand was on his dick instead, and fuck, he was losing his fucking mind, moaning uncontrollably, offering himself up even as he felt sick to his stomach.

 

“S-stop,” he sobbed, voice breaking as his dry throat gave out. The come wasn’t enough, he just couldn't think. He felt like he was on fire, or maybe the room was, air too thin and leaving him gasping, pinned under the weight of his belly. His hips hitched into another orgasm as his tits were tugged and squeezed relentlessly, growing heavier all the while. Then he felt a shifting in his belly, a feeling like spiders on the inside of his skin, and as he pressed down to check, many things started pressing back. 

 

“W-what is-- I can-- There's something in me,” he whispered, crying anew despite how dehydrated he was, his horror mounting. 

 

“You're doing so well,” one man said, once again ignoring Ian. He squeezed Ian's chest again, and Ian let out a groan before he could stop himself. “Such a good breeder. I know what you need.” 

 

He soon found himself on his knees in the middle of the aisle, not entirely sure how, too numb with horror to pay much attention to anything other than the restless movement in his belly. Was it going to just burst out of him? Eat him up from the inside? Would he waste away as his belly grew bigger and bigger? Looking down at himself, at his fat chest resting on the huge jut of his belly, made him feel funny -- room spinning, breathing shallow -- so he focused on the rough carpet under him instead. He had the thought that he should really try and get some help, but instead he palmed his belly, propping himself up on his other arm. There was just so much of it, a tight, wide expanse, so full and heavy, and Ian fell forward and arched his back, feeling better on his hands and knees, the huge weight of his belly no longer compressing his lungs, the heft of it resting on the floor beneath him. He felt even better when someone pulled down his come-stained pants to mid-thigh and he could push his ass into the hands spreading him open, moaning like an expensive whore when two fingers sunk into him with a slick (no, wait, that’s not--) wet sound, pulling and stretching his hole. Yes, yes, yes that's what he needed, he needed to be plugged up, stuffed full of cock and bred until his belly swam with come, fat and heavy with young-- and Ian shook his head hard, breathing laboured, heart beating wildly, shaking away those awful, disgusting thoughts, and did his best to kick the man behind him away but then the fingers were being pulled out and that thick cock was being pushed in and Ian was being split in two, body greedy for it even as the rest of him resisted, his own dick rock hard against the underside of his belly. 

 

He dug his fingers into the carpet, bottom lip caught in his teeth as he did his best to deny the feeling of the man inside him, forcing him wide open, stretching him, dragging so deliciously over his soft insides, but the pleasure rose like a wave inside him, a thick blanket suffocating him, drowning him, and Ian was quickly lost. So when another dick was pressed to his lips, Ian opened up without hesitation. 

 

His throat still burned, but Ian knew he could get relief and so he sucked desperately at it, tonguing the head for any pre that dribbled out. And then his hair was tangled in a grip, the man was moving, all short sharp thrusts, and all he had to do was open his throat and take it, making muffled, choking noises until the man froze and then emptied his balls into Ian's waiting mouth. He barely had a chance to savour the feeling before another was taking his place and then the man at his ass was coming too, his grip bruising tight on his bouncing belly, and Ian was left shaking and shuddering and groaning around the cock in his mouth as his belly grew again. His sides creaked as the weight pushed outwards, tits soft and heavy in his undershirt and getting heavier. Another man took his place, huge cock thrusting up into him, and Ian came again, nursing desperately at the cock in his mouth even as his greedy body was rocked by thrusts, swallowing frantically around the head until the man gave it up and came, thick and heavy in his mouth, and Ian could drink it all down.

 

Ian gulped down air, a couple of seconds reprieve, and then another cock was pushing past his lips, muffling his loud cries as his belly gurgled and grew again, expanding out into the hands clutching possessively at it, and then again, stretch marks growing, as the man at his back finished and another thrust his cock into his sloppy hole. 

 

He was dizzy, delirious, lungs compressed by his obscenely large belly, air blocked by the cock thrusting in his mouth, but his body was hot with pleasure, mouth and ass both aching to be filled. The man inside him had his chest pressed to his sweaty back, mouth at his ear spilling filth that still somehow got him hotter, and his hands gripped at his bouncing belly, jolting in time to the hard thrusts. The man in front had a hand snarled in his hair, the other squeezing and tugging at his tit, fingers unerringly locating a fat nipple to play with. There was nothing but loud breathing over murmured words, the slick sound of the man's dick slamming back inside Ian, muffled moans that took a while for Ian to register that they were coming from him. 

 

“Is there anything I can get for you gentlemen?” 

 

Ian jerked, cry silenced by the cock in his mouth, shooting a panicked glance up at the air steward standing to one side. Shame rolled through his body like a heatwave, the voice jarring something loose in his mind. What-- what was he doing? The next sound he made was one of denial, of despair, eyes squeezed shut in the childish hope that the situation wasn’t happening. He needed to go, he needed to get help, and the thought was like a goddamn epiphany. He tried to shake himself free, wondering how the hell he’d ended up there, but he was well and truly trapped between, and pleasure was twisting tighter and tighter in his gut, and then the man in front of him was groaning, and Ian was choking on his cock and then his come, no recourse other than to swallow down all that was fed to him.

 

“Please go away,” he whispered around a moan, throat so much better but still achingly dry, but he was unsurprised to see the air steward still there, eyes wrong, smiling blankly down at him-- or rather, down at his bouncing belly that was almost framed by the man's large hands. The air steward licked his lips and knelt down, one hand reaching out to press against his tight belly, and Ian couldn't help but come, all across his come-splattered belly. 

 

“You're so fertile,” the air steward said, “so close. Just a little more.” And as the air steward fumbled with his belt, the man behind him hummed and ground against him, shoving in in in and coming deep inside him, and then continuing, dick not softening in the least. Ian shuddered at the feeling, aroused at the thought, liking it, before shaking his head again in denial, doing his best to focus. But then his attention was snatched away again by the hard dick by his face, and all he could think about was how good it felt, swallowing down all that come, throat finally soothed, and as his body rocked from the man's hard thrusts, as his belly quivered and grew, fuller and heavier every second, as the pressure in his chest grew until his filthy undershirt strained and tore, round tits spilling out onto his belly, Ian opened his mouth desperately for the air steward’s dick. 

  
  
  
  


He couldn't move when they were done with him; worn out from the way they filled and fucked him, immobilized by the huge weight of his belly, a round mass jutting from his body, shiny with sweat and marred by stretch marks and bruises, the movement of whatever was inside him obvious through skin stretched thin. His panting was closer to wheezing, broken by faint moans as his hands continued to play with himself, a mind of their own, to massage his gravid belly, to squeeze his full, heavy chest, tugging at his large nipples, the low burn of arousal still simmering inside him. The men had finally left him, alone in the middle of the aisle and absolutely filthy, hole sloppy with come, clearly managing to do whatever the fuck it was they were doing to him. Ian tried his best not to think about it. 

 

(Liar)

 

His throat was finally soothed. Ian smacked his lips to work away some of the tackiness.

 

The landing announcement came over the speakers and that prodded him into action. He managed to pull his soiled pants back up over his ass after a lot of struggling but it was mostly pointless; the way his belly hung obscenely from his body and the huge swell of his chest meant that pulling up his pants was pretty much all he could do. He dragged himself back to his seat and did back up his seatbelt, tucked under his roiling belly, and then dragged his suit jacket over his exposed torso, glancing furtively at the other occupants. 

 

What the fuck was he going to do? He had a presentation to give when he landed. The technical _ director _ was counting on him. Unconsciously he rubbed both hands over his belly, a counterpoint to the restless movement within, squirming a little at how good it felt, his touch on the sensitive skin sending little sparks of warmth through his body. Maybe he could grab a suit in duty-free on his way out of the airport, run through the conference, and then take himself to the hospital? It wasn’t great, but it was the best he could do, and as the plane came in to land, Ian huffed and spread his legs a little, hands settling the weight in his lap.

 

He was the first off the plane, shouldering past the other business class passengers with prejudice (though strangely enough, the annoyed looks he got in return showed no hints of recognition or knowing), and hurried down the entranceway with his hand luggage in one hand and suit jacket clutched to his chest, as fast as he could with all the extra weight sitting on him. 

 

His back was killing him, and he had to sit after he bought two of those two litre bottles of water as soon as possible, downing half of one in one go just to fully quench the residual ache in his throat, and sipping leisurely at the rest of it until it was all gone, rubbing his belly under the cover of his suit jacket as it gurgled and quivered. He stuffed the other in his luggage for later and then hunted down a suit shop, cheeks burning in shame as people stared at him. There was only one and he had to pay an exorbitant price for a suit (untailored, of course) that could fit over the globe of his belly, and even then the buttons strained, skin peeking through where his undershirt wasn't able to cover, but he was finally dressed, stained and torn clothing disposed of with prejudice, and Ian could make his way to the conference hall to get set up

 

There was a car waiting for him outside, and Ian lowered himself onto the back seat with a sigh of relief, doing his best to ignore how the driver stared at him. The movement in his belly was becoming more violent, and Ian spent the ride massaging the bloated weight of it, trying his best to calm the restlessness, sipping from his second bottle of water. 

 

He felt...sloshy when the car pulled over in front of a high class hotel, all glitz and glam, and he was a lot more careful manoeuvring his weight when he got out of the car. He felt like he was at capacity, on the razor thin sweet spot between ruin on all sides and he couldn't afford to tip the balance until after the conference. His belly gurgled all the way through reception, up to his room, and back down again to the conference hall, and his chest felt weird, all soft and tender and sensitive to touch, and when he moved a certain way the brush of his shirt sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. 

 

His hands were shaking as he checked the set up, as he greeted the other guests, doing his best to ignore their greedy, pleased looks, their lingering touches on his belly, jiggling the weight between conversation of income streams and databases. He was starting to sweat again too, breathing little laboured, so it was a relief when the attendees were prompted to take their seats and he could extricate himself to give his presentation. 

 

Miracles of miracles, there were no technical difficulties, and Ian launched into his opening spiel, one hand resting on his overactive belly, soothing it, the other clicking through his presentation. Sweat beaded at his temple, prickling at his lower back, and Ian was forced to take a quick break to down a bottle of water and catch his breath, leaning on the table to take some of the weight off his back. He gave a strained smile to his audience, stomach turning over violently, and resumed his presentation. 

 

He was just getting into the numbers portion of the presentation when a wave of pressure rolled over his belly, stopping him mid-word, and then again when he tried to continue. Then the weight of his belly dropped, so suddenly it forced moan out of him, and then one by one, as though in slow motion, the buttons on his shirt popped off, shockingly loud in the dead silence of the hall, until his belly could spill out over his waistband, too small undershirt leaving it completely bare. 

 

Ian sank to the ground hunched over in pain, bare belly rippling under his hands, his moans of embarrassment indistinguishable from his moans of pain, shocked to open his eyes and find the other guests surrounding him, hands pressing against his huge belly.

 

“No,” he sobbed, trying to squirm away, “please, someone g-get help.” 

 

The pressure grew, and he felt something large slip downwards, hole stretching wide and leaking slick, and Ian started to panic, breathing fast and shallow. He did his best to shove them away, inching and crawling over to his phone, but collapsed with a cry before he could even get halfway as whatever it was inside him began to crown and Ian gave up in favour of getting his pants off. 

 

“P-please,” he tried again, “call the hospital,” but it was like they couldn't hear him-- or perhaps they just didn't care, stroking hands over his sweaty belly, avid gazes fixed on him, and Ian gave up thinking about them, screaming as he was compelled to push, as something fought and squirmed to get out, a deep, sharp ache growing in his belly and down his spine to his burning asshole. He screamed again at the slow slide over his prostate, the shock of pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, dick chubbing up until it was pressed to the wide weight of his rippling belly. He pushed again, tears and sweat mingling on his face, and felt it slip from his hole. Long tendrils wrapped around his thigh, and then a mass of flesh and tentacles oozed its way over the enormous dome of his belly. Ian screamed, terrified, but then another thing was crowning and he was helpless against the feeling, too helpless to stop the thing on his chest ripping straight through his undershirt to his fat tits, something like a mouth latching onto his engorged nipple and sucking hard, with what must have been needle-sharp teeth abrading the skin. It shocked another moan out of him, back arching, sobbing as  _ something _ was drawn from his chest, and came, shooting all over the underside of his belly in front of all the attendees. 

 

His face burned, disgust and shame making him want to curl up and hide, but instead he was pushing again, straining against the sweet slide of pleasure, sobbing at the feeling of tentacles hooking over the rim of his hole and pulling until the body slipped free. And then another creature was oozing up his body to latch onto his other nipple, and Ian was coming again, and then he braced himself to begin pushing once more. 

 

On his chest, the creatures grew fatter and fatter as they glutted themselves on him, long tentacles curled around his torso and neck, an implicit threat against being removed. Their razor-teeth tugged at his nipples, digging in, and Ian couldn’t even tell whether it was pain or pleasure he was feeling, it all being one big sensation that had him coming again regardless.

 

His body ached, baring down as hard as he could, and he was weakening, he could feel it, even though he'd only pushed two of them out of his body. The large bloat of his belly told him that he many more to come, and dread washed over him in a wave, wondering what would happen to him if he couldn't push any more. 

 

He didn't have to wonder for long, shrieking as someone pressed hard on his belly, pain excruciating, writhing and crying, unable to get away. “S-stop,” he cried, trying and failing to pull himself away, “you'll kill me!” 

 

The creatures inside him didn’t like it either, churning violently inside, skin blossoming in bruises. He screamed all the way through the next birth, screamed as his belly was squeezed, screamed until his voice gave out and all he could do was make hoarse, whimpering sounds as the creatures were forced from his body, until he was covered in them, large, slick, fleshy bodies creeping over his body, fighting to nurse at his large, heavy tits, nipples shredded by their teeth. He kept whimpering even when he was empty, and the creatures that had finished feeding had moved onto the other guests, wrapped tightly over their faces, bodies pulsing as they pushed eggs down their throats, or had ripped through their clothes, tentacles curled around their thighs to pump eggs into their holes. 

 

Whimpered until the last two creatures slid off his bloody tits and one crept over his mouth while the other pulled his legs apart.

 

Then he wasn’t making much noise at all.


End file.
